


Hiraeth

by Taffyberry



Series: Arcalima [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Death, Death Knight, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt, Mage, Necromancy, Nightmares, Pain, Scourge, Slow Burn, Undead, death knight - freeform, lordaeron - freeform, mage - freedform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taffyberry/pseuds/Taffyberry
Summary: Theramore is destroyed and a strange new continent has appeared from the clouds. With the young prince off to investigate the new land, Eryn is left alone to deal with the grief of losing her home, her friends, and her family. Without Jaina to guide her, or Anduin to cheer her on, Eryn decides to venture out to the world alone and find  her own strength, and to discover more about Alchos and her mysterious staff. She decides to start where her life began, hoping to find some peace in the past, but instead discovers something dark stirring within the  night. Corpses are being raised despite the fall of the Lich King. Together with a Death Knight who would rather work alone, she must find and stop the necromancer before the Plaguelands are consumed by death again.





	1. Prologue: One Rainy Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is only going to be a short one; I'm not entirely sure how many chapters there will be, but I doubt it will be over ten, if it even gets close. This is just kind of a small intermission series for Eryn to go through everything she needs to go through! It'll take us up to the middle of Pandaria, I think. There's relatively small Anduin/Eryn in this, there will be some at the start, so I apologise! However, I hope you really like the new original character I'm bringing in! She and Eryn will have an interesting relationship to say the least!

He was dead.

Hands covered in blood, shaking violently. The sound of a sword clattering to the ground, rain hammering on the window of the small house, surrounded by trees. Two bodies on the floor, one a look of fury, the other a look of horror. She’d never killed anyone before—

Her father—

He would have killed her.

He’d killed her mother who was trying to protect her.

Irina stared at the two bodies, feeling as though all the air in the room had left. He had to get out—what had she done? It had been her instinct when she’d heard her fathers sword, when her mother screamed. She knew her best friend had been training her to protect herself, but… had he intended this? For her to… kill him? What would he think? She felt sick.

Her bag was already half packed, it was what had started this. His fury that she was leaving, that she could dare fall in love with ‘that boy’ across the river. Irina sobbed, her bright auburn hair like a wild fire in the dark room. Her brown eyes scanned the room, shakily grabbing everything she would need. She forgot her cloak, but didn’t care even when the rain soaked her through. Let it wash away all the blood, she willed. Let it take her crime from her.

Is that what it was? A crime?

She killed him, he killed her mother, would have killed her. Did that make her actions okay? She didn’t know. Irina let out another sob, feet splashing through the puddles that lined the narrow paths. She passed the inn of Brill, she could hear drunken revelry there; she thought she heard Renault’s voice and wondered if, perhaps, she should go to him first. But she carried on running, her mind only upon the small house on the other side of the river where she’d spent so much of her time the past few years.

Irina reached it, hands still shaking. His father was not there, right? He hadn’t been for week. She wrung her hands nervously, knocking on the door. Would he answer? What would he think? She closed her eyes, terrified it was an awful idea but rooted to the spot, everything felt so heavy, her heart hammered in her chest—

The door opened.

“Irina?”

“Darion,” she gasped out, hands half raised towards him. She stared at the dried blood and sobbed again. “I-I killed him.”

She couldn’t bare to look up at him, couldn’t bare to see the anger or the judgement or the disappointment she was sure was obvious on his face. She should turn, walk off—her eyes pricked with tears, her knees felt weak, but before she could hit the wet ground, Darion’s strong arms caught her under the shoulders and pulled her close to him.

Irina closed her eyes. His heartbeat was loud in her ear, warm, significant, full of life; her favourite sound in the world.


	2. One: Memories

There was so much destruction and little else.

The wind should be blowing from the sea, bringing the scent of sea air, the sound of laughter from the children on their way to the schoolhouse. But there was nothing. No salty air reminding her of the good things in life, no laughter reminding her of the innocence, or the goodness that still existed despite everything that had happened. Instead, the only sounds that reached Eryn’s ears was the odd crackling from the magic which still lingered in the ruins of Theramore, and the moving of rubble as she walked.

Eryn was not a tall girl. She was small, petite. Yet she had long brown hair which fell to the bottom of her back. She frequently tied it back, but that day she just let it go free, hanging over her chest and peaking beneath the hood of the oversized black cloak she wore. Her lilac eyes shone as she looked around, reacting to both her emotions and the magic in the area. Her staff, Arcalima, which she clutched tightly in her left hand, glowed in response to the magic that lingered. 

She should be standing where the guard barracks should have been. There was nothing. To think magic had done this—no… Garrosh had, the goblins. She clutched Arcalima tightly, willing herself not to think in hatred, not to deal in the vengeance she sought. She watched it consume her mentor, watched as Jaina grew into a cold woman she did not recognise. Pained would know what to say, Eryn knew, but Pained was gone. As was Kinndy. If Aegwynn had survived, Eryn hadn’t been told. The only person who survived was Jaina. Could she say survive? Could anyone survive this? Eryn wasn’t sure survival was supposed to feel like this, as if all your hopes and dreams had vanished, that everything good in the world had gone, that everything which connected you to the world was just….

Ashes and rubble.

Once, when she was about thirteen, Eryn had gotten sick after swimming in the sea. She’d been bitten by a water snake and had suffered from a bad reaction to it. She remembered both Jaina and Pained freaking out, carrying her to the guardhouse and fussing over her. They’d treated her quickly, fixed her up easily, but she remembered how Jaina hadn’t left her side for two days until her fever vanished. 

Now all that was left of that time was smoking rubble, traces of laughter in her memories but nothing else. Anduin would be angry she’d gone alone, but he didn’t understand; how could he? He had his home, his father. What did she have left? Everything was gone. It had only been four weeks since the attack, four weeks since the trial—it had all happened at once. She felt so overwhelmed and found herself crumpled onto the ground clutching at her chest.Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. What good was magic if she could not reverse this? She’d asked that of Kalec when he’d spoken with her after it, at Varian’s request. Rhonin was gone, too. Now, Jaina was leader of the Kirin’tor, but any notion she had of peace had all but gone. Eryn wasn’t sure she could blame her, she’d lost so much, given them so many chances… hadn’t her father died for that peace? For Theramore to stand as an example of her hopes and dreams? And now it was gone. Everything she’d ever done… gone. After so much trauma, after so much grief… she supposed that was what happened to you, you just… broke. She thought back to something she’d thought of back when she’d been travelling with Anduin and Corel; did monsters make war, or did war make monsters?

Eryn closed her eyes. Both were true. 

Then guttural voices came to her ears and her eyes snapped up onto the large green figures. Orcs. Dressed in red, colours of the horde, laughing as they picked through the ruins of the city. Scavengers. She should teach them a lesson. Arcane power crackled dangerously in her hand as she brought herself to her feet. They should suffer as she had, they should suffer as Jaina had, they should lose their lives as her people had. As the children whose laughter was long since gone—

And yet, when they turned to her, withdrawing her axes, she couldn’t do it.

Who was she to decide what they did or didn’t deserve? Did they have families who would never see them again? Probably. Would they, in turn, raise their axes to seek their killers? The violence only sought more violence. She understood fighting for peace, fighting for noble reasons, but fighting because of hatred, because it would make her feel better—that wasn’t who she was. She wanted to let the anger consume her, she wanted it to fuel her very being, go on a rampage, work out the grief she felt. Oh how she felt it, in every single bone in her body as it if were blood running through her veins. There had not been a time in the past few weeks where she did not feel as if she were close to falling apart, as if one more thing would not send her over the edge.

But she couldn’t do it.

The two orcs charged at her, but Eryn harmlessly lifted Arcalima and chanted a single word. Where both Orcs had been, two sheep now stood, bleating in confusion. 

There was nothing here but destruction. Nothing left for her. She turned, leaving the two sheep to walk around aimlessly, and opened a portal back to Stormwind. She took one look back at her home and then stepped through the portal.

“There you are!” A voice said instantly. Angry, worried, she noted. She was ready for Anduin’s fury the moment the keep materialised into view. The private quarters, where she’d been spending a lot of time. Varian was there too, looking up from some paperwork. He glanced her over then went back to them, content that she was unharmed. His son, however, was not content with that. “What were you thinking? Going there alone?”

“I had to go,” She muttered, pulling her cloak off. “I had to see it.”

The prince’s eyes softened, taking a step towards her. If she’d just open up—his father had said it would take time, but he was leaving in two days. How could he leave her like this? What if he came back to someone he didn’t recognise? He wished she could come with him, but she needed rest, to recover from everything. “You didn’t need to go alone,” he said gently.

“I needed to be with my thoughts,” she said distantly, turning from him. “I’m going to go and freashen up. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Before Anduin could say anything else, she’d gone. He remained with his hand reached out to take hers for a few moments, before it dropped uselessly to his side. His shoulders slumped, and with a heavy sigh he dragged himself over to where his father was working. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Just give her time.”

“I don’t have time,” he muttered. 

Varian sighed, pushing his papers aside. “This is something she needs to figure out for herself, Anduin. She knows you’re there for her if she needs it.”

“And what if she realises she needs me while I’m away?” he scowled. “I don’t like it.”

The king wanted to laugh, his son was like a lost puppy. “She is a capable mage, it won’t take long to get portals set up there. You two won’t be as far away as you think, and you won’t be gone for long,” he assured. Truthfully, he didn’t much like the idea of sending Anduin mostly alone, but he had to let him go. He was almost nineteen now, he needed to have more official responsibilities, and, he reasoned, Anduin had been the only one unharmed after the maleficar attacks. He’d gone and returned, all in one piece. 

Anduin turned to reply but was broken off by the entrance of the spymaster. He had no expression on his face and crossed the room in three quick steps. Anduin listened. “She was engaged by two Orc warriors,” Mathias said, staring at the king. Anduin paused—did his father have him look over her? Of course he did. Anduin sighed, he’d been stupid to think she’d been there entirely alone, just his father had more tact about it, more secrecy.

But then the words dawned on him. Engaged by two Orc warriors.

Varian looked grim. They were in open hostilities with the Horde once again, but if she’d attacked them, even in self-defence—“And what happened?”

“Nothing,” Mathias said simply. “She polymorphed them and then portaled away.”

To say he was stunned was nothing short of an understatement, but Anduin was unable to hide his grin. He’d pleaded with Aunt Jaina to keep notions of peace, but it had changed her. He’d been so worried about Eryn, too, but… she could have killed them, and yet she hadn’t. She’d made the choice to be better than that, to rise above her hatred and her grief. Her magic was good and pure—

Her magic.

He suddenly had an idea.

Anduin excused himself quickly, hurrying up to his own quarters. He’d had a gift made for his father to give to him before he left for this new uncharted continent that had appeared, yet he was worried it would be damaged easily if his father kept it on him during dangerous situations. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before, but—

The prince knocked on Eryn’s door quickly. He took a few breaths in, wondering if she would not answer, but when he heard her call out to ‘come in’, he smiled more. He was just worried about her, she didn’t talk about anything at all. The nightmares she had… they’d gotten so bad it had woken him one evening, that was when he’d become aware of just how badly it had affected her. It was another reason he wanted her to go with him, maybe the time away could have taken her mind from everything. Yet—

Her room was full of maps and books and a half-packed bag. He was surprised at how messy and unorganised she was, but he decided it was one of her quirks. For a lady who was so composed and well groomed in court to be so… all over the place in private. He really admired her. “Eryn,” he said, coming in. “I have a favour to ask.”

She paused, looking up from the map she’d been going over. He peered at it; an old map from before the scourge of the kingdom of Lordaeron. “What is it?” she asked. Her hair was still wet from washing up, and she’d piled it into one big bun on the top of her head. He wondered if all that hair didn’t annoy her; he’d cut his as soon as he’d gotten back. He felt freer without it all, yet his father kept it long, too, though he’d always suspected it was because he just had no time to see to it. 

“This,” he held the compass out, somewhat shyly. “I want to gift it to my father, but I wondered if you could enchant it first, to protect it from damage.”

Her face softened. How could she think she needed the children’s laughter to remind her of the goodness left in this world? Anduin was here, he was always here, so bright like the sun, so full of goodness, so full of hope. She hoped, dearly she did, that he would never have to see his home destroyed, that it wouldn’t be for many years yet that he’d have to handle the absence of his father. If she could, she would protect him from the darkness the world might try to extinguish his light. “Of course,” She said, giving him a small smile as she took it from him. “It’s a beautiful gift,” she commented.

He smiled happily, watching curiously as she traced runes with her finger over the surface of the metal. They glowed a purple colour, and each one faded when she’d done, before she’d start on another rune. She chanted softly, and he noted her lilac eyes glowed gently as she focused. Her room smelled like low burning candles, like old books, and like a smell that followed most mages around; it was somewhat sharp, the smell of magic, and Anduin didn’t much like it, but Eryn was softer, more floral. He was going to miss her, even if he wouldn’t be gone too long. “Father said you were thinking of leaving for a bit.”

“Yes,” she said, turning the compass over and tracing more runes. These were white, he noted. “I want to visit the place my parents grew up.”

“The plaguelands?”

Eryn nodded. “I don’t know how to deal with anything that’s going on, Anduin, I can barely put anything I feel into words at all. All I know is I don’t know who I am anymore,” She looked up at him, offering him back the compass. He took it, his hand brushing hers. “I want to find out more about them both, just… do something good for a bit. Take my mind off my own problems,” she rubbed her hands. She looked smaller than ever, he thought. She was eating well, he’d made sure of it, but it was like all her worries had piled on top of her shoulders and pushed her down and compacted her into such a small space.

“I hope you find answers,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” she replied, staring at him warmly.

He liked her, yet he knew he should not press it, especially not right now when she was so consumed by everything else. Yet he wanted her to know he cared for her. He took her hand in his own and gave her a warm smile. Eryn did not move her hand back.

***

Brill was nothing as she remembered it to be. 

Not that she remembered much of it at all. She got flashes of memory here and there, they were more vivid the closer to her death they were, but by then Brill had become so dark and so full of terror of the undead scourge that she could barely remember any goodness existing there.

Irina snorted as she watched the pitiful figures below. She was sat atop her large horse on a hill overlooking the town. The forsaken. She sneered. What on earth was Sylvanas thinking? Raising them into undeath and trying to paint it as though she’d done them some great favour. It disgusted her. If she’d had the choice she would have stayed dead, the sword right through her gut. She would have gone into the ground and stayed there. Not this. 

She had hoped returning to the town she’d grown up in would shift something in her, but nothing. She felt nothing. After breaking free from the Lich King’s control, she’d spent much of her time trying to regain the entirety of her old life. Darion helped, he’d known her best while she was alive, but he remembered little, too. Brill was a place she visited frequently, and on her way back to Andorhal, she’d often pause near the gates of Undercity, almost urging herself to go in. She never did.

What was there even to be gained by remembering? A sense of purpose, perhaps. It was something all her kind now struggled with. They had broken free from their master, and now vengeance had stuck him down and he was gone—where was their place? Many of them had joined the sides of the horde or the alliance, finding purpose there. She felt much like Darion, that there was nothing either side could contribute to her, and that she held no place in either of them. She was human, Thassarian would often point out she belonged amongst the alliance. Irina would simply reply that she had grown up in Lordaeron and was now an undead, if she belonged anywhere, it would be amongst the forsaken, but she detested the banshee queen and her methods. 

So, she lingered for a time in Northrend, dealing with much of the remainder of the scourge. She’d spent some time anxiously watching the citadel, terrified something would come from it one day, that everything wasn’t truly over. But Darion had brought her back to the Eastern Kingdoms, convincing her that nothing was to be had by just staring at walls.

For a time she had lingered amongst the paladins of the Argent Crusade. Tirion was more than accommodating to the Knights of the Ebon Blade, still honouring the joined forces of the Ashen Verdict, but Irina knew she had nothing in common with them. So, instead, she spent her time hunting down remainders of scourge, the remainders of cultists who sought to carry on the Lich King’s work within the plaguelands. She’d been good at it in life, Tirion had told her, hunting down scourge and destroying them. A fine warrior was what he’d called her, fearless.

“Brill again?” Thassarian asked as her horse drew into Andorhal. 

“I had to try,” she muttered. 

“Highlord Mograine was looking for you, he says he has something important for you to do.”

Irina’s nose crinkled. She was fond of Darion, she knew that while alive they had been together for a time, but she could not remember much beyond warm touches and soft kisses. Now when they touched each other she felt nothing; she was cold, he was cold. She knew others of her kind gained control of their feelings again, Thassarian with his sister, for instance, but her heart stayed stoic and frozen. “If he wants me to… socialise,” She sighed in frustration. “I like to be alone.”

“Yes, because that does nothing to harbour good relations with the living,” he said simply. She shot him a look and he held up his hands in defence. “You know they’re always scared of you, I heard a few of them telling stories about the Death Knight who just appeared out of the fog in the night.”

Irina smirked. She always found it funny when people feared her, she never gave them reason to, it wasn’t as if she drew her runeblade upon them. But, she supposed, her large armour and fiery red hair and piercing, icy blue eyes were quite a sight, especially upon such a large horse. “I’ll see what he wants,” she muttered, dismounting from her horse and leading him to the stables. He didn’t much like Ebon Hold much and would become unsettled, especially when the geists would go near him. Then, she turned and summoned up her gate.

Acherus was the one place she felt at home. Many of the Death Knights now stayed elsewhere, either with family they had reconnected with, or within cities, or some even travelled alone. They checked in every now and then, but very few lingered. She supposed there were not exactly many fond memories of this place to most of them, yet she felt safe there, able to take her heavy armour of, and not needing to always look over her shoulder for threats. 

“There you are.”

Darion.

He was a handsome boy, she knew from her memories, high cheekbones and a perfect smile. This man was not the same handsome boy, he was rough, hardened by so many years, and just as cold and unchanging as she was. She knew it troubled him, that he felt nothing for her too. They both tried. Perhaps it was why she wanted her memories so badly; that, perhaps, if she remembered properly, she’d feel for him again. She knew she’d felt at home in his arms once, that his heartbeat had soothed her. But he had no heartbeat now. He had no warmth to offer her.

“You needed me?”

“Yes,” he said, leading her off to the side. Important, then. “Tirion sent word of the dead coming to life from within Stratholme.”

Irina inhaled. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet it is happening. He’s planning on sending a group of paladin’s in to check it out. I’d like you to go, too.”

“I don’t like-“

“Working with other people,” he cut her off. “But this is serious. Irina, if there’s a necromancer, or any hint of the Lich King—we need to be prepared. We need to know what’s going on.”

“Have the leaders of the horde and alliance been told…?”

“No,” he said sharply. “They already use Andorhal as a fighting ground, and that was before Theramore.” Of course they knew, how could they not? “They’d just use Stratholme as another place to fight and bicker. They’d forget the true enemy.”

Irina smirked; that was what she liked best about Darion, he didn’t sugar coat things. She liked things straight up, no thrills, no sparing of her feelings. “And what if it is the Lich King?”

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Irina already knew they would need to be wary, he should be silent, dormant for many years yet, but—her stomach churned, knotted up into a ball. None of them wanted to return to him, even if this was not Arthas, even if he happened to have noble goals. They could not trust him. And still, even if it wasn’t, a necromancer was still bad news. And yet, inside her, a monster stirred, eager for battle, anticipating the blood coating her runeblade. At the very least, she hoped she’d get a good fight out of it.


	3. Two: Belonging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp :v I'm sorry this is really short, I intended it to be longer but I couldn't really add anything else to it. I'm awful at writing fight scenes, and I wanted it to stop where it has because if anything more happens, it takes away from the next chapter :vvvvvvv.... Anyway I think this might be four or five chapters long in total. Just a small series. It basically ends where alliance fleet kind of smash up on Pandaria, to give an idea of the timescale. :vvv 
> 
> Also Hiraeth is a Welsh word that is for the word of homesickness but... it doesn't always mean a place :vvvv and it has more of a deeper feeling than that but it doesn't translate. I felt it was fitting because it kind of matches Eryn's general feelings right now :vv so yes :vvv

Arathi was a strange place. It seemed so unlike the Azeroth Eryn had ventured out into before. It was green enough to be like Mulgore, and yet the human ruins and troll camps that littered the area were proof it was anything but. There had been increasing orcish raids in the area, and on her journey up to the Plaugelands, King Varian Wrynn had asked her to deliver a letter to refugee point about the status of reinforcements. Alliance soldiers were in high tension after Theramore and Eryn wasn’t sure she could fault them. Many of them lost family and friends in that underhanded and unprovoked attack, they wanted to spill blood in return. Eryn refused to allow herself to think like that, to give into those primal urges. She would be better than that. She had to be.

She could not risk the disappointment on the prince’s face if she gave into everything she wanted to do. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t visited Jaina since she’d moved into Dalaran, her new thirst for horde blood would probably fuel her more and she’d find it harder to resist. That wasn’t who she wanted to be; she was so tired of fighting, so tired of death. Hadn’t everyone already lost so much already? When did it end?

It had so far taken her three days on her journey. She’d taken the tram to Ironforge, and then taken a gryphon to Menethil Harbour. She remembered hearing stories about it before the Cataclysm, how vibrant and joyful the place was. Now it was underwater, and its people had lost hope. She overheard a few young boys announcing they intended to enlist; they wanted to fight back, they said loudly, they had nothing else to lose. What did she have to lose? 

Anduin.

But hadn’t she pushed him away? Hadn’t she agreed with herself it was better to not be with him? There were so many reasons why she should stay away from him. Maybe if she removed herself from him entirely—it would hurt her, hurt him, but he’d be better off in the long run. If she never went back… how would that play out? Where else would she belong? It was something she wanted to find. A purpose. Something to keep going for that wasn’t simply another human being. Peace seemed a distant and futile goal to keep close to her, and, she wasn’t even sure she truly believed in it anymore. 

She found the further North she got, the more against the horde the people became. The humans of Arathi were tired of having to deal with the forsaken and their plague. That was always a threat, that Sylvanas would unleash the blight upon them all. It made her sick to think about. Fear was strong, their bloodlust was stronger. Eryn didn’t linger. She took another Gryphon north to Andorhal but left quickly when she noted the Alliance and Horde conflict was strong there. She wanted to partake, the death knight, Thassarian she thought his name was, had suggested her aid could be of use, that a powerful mage was always a welcome sight to troops on a battlefield. Of course they were, she thought, mages could decimate ranks in seconds. The power she had at her fingers was dangerous, she was not stupid enough to not be aware of it, and it terrified her. She’d always been so at peace with who she was, always using her magic as if she would use her hand, reaching out for things with it, holding a book, anything she needed. After Theramore she found herself unable to do it. She remembered the magic she’d unleashed in Thunder Bluff, thought of the mana bomb annihilating her home… what if she got angry? What if she killed people? She’d done it before, but that had been to protect herself, to protect Anduin. It was never for the sake of just… killing people.

No one knew how she felt, she hadn’t admitted it to anyone. She’d thought of confiding into Anduin before he left, but he had to be focused on his ‘diplomatic mission’, she couldn’t bare the thought that he might be too worried about what she’d put on his shoulders. Instead she’d seen him off with a firm smile, one Varian had seen through, but not questioned. She was thankful to him, he seemed willing to give her all the space she needed yet made it clear that his presence was there. She’d thought of talking with Genn about it, the worgen all had incredible self-control after all, to keep that monster within them at bay. She wondered if the anger she felt, the hatred within her, whether it was the same concept; whether she could train in, squash it into some other form. She hadn’t, instead she focused on getting ready to leave.

The Western Plaguelands had more life in them than she had expected. The druids and paladins were doing amazing work, to see foliage and animals, life where there had once only been death. She thought to Theramore, to where she’d walked amongst the ruins. The only sign life existed there was the shape of where someone had sat against a wall near the docks. They’d blocked the radiation from hitting the wall with their body, casting a shadow and a human sized shape to be left behind. The only hint life had existed there, in a place which now crackled violently with mana and arcane residue. Theramore would never be this. It would never spring up like a stem of peacebloom from some once dead earth. It would always be dead. Gone.

Before leaving, Varian had suggested she stop at Light’s Hope within the Eastern Plaguelands. Highlord Tirion Fordring was back from Northrend and currently there accepting new recruits to help heal the scarred land and suggested that he could be of help with her figuring everything out, but, she had somewhere she wanted to go first. 

Stratholme.

It was still crawling with undead, she knew, the houses were still ablaze with fire… she knew that too. But it was where her parents had met, where they’d been born, where they’d fallen in love… where she had been born. It felt significant to her, as if she should go there. She wished she knew where her mothers grave was; was it nearby? It was possibly a futile hope to wish for it to be intact. Maybe she’d been spared a kindness, maybe she lay forgotten beneath the ground. Or, maybe she was at lights hope, or buried within a different graveyard. She’d found no records in the Stormwind library when she’d gone looking. When she’d questioned the steward he simply said all the records of deaths within Lordaeron had been lost with the fall of the city to the Forsaken. She would never know.

Yet she was not prepared for the smell. There had been some undead on the way, but mostly they stayed in the shadows. They watched her but didn’t approach and so she let them be, fearful if she attacked one, plenty more would pour upon her before she was swarmed. She had not come here to fight; she’d come to try and find some peace in all of this. If the smell of the maleficar’s magic had been putrid, it was nothing to the inside of Stratholme. She found piles of fetid corpses yet no actual scourge. Perhaps the paladin’s had wiped them out from the city at last? There seemed sign of actual life, the tell-tale sign of boots walking through the ash, and plenty of them. Maybe there were still some people behind?

The further she went in, the more it seemed like a bad idea. She did not recognise anything, she had no idea where to go. Where would they have lived? What places would they have frequented? Nothing could connect them to this place, nothing connected her to it. Despite the flames around her, Eryn felt cold. Realising she’d made a mistake she turned to leave.

Where there had been piles of corpses there now stood a few scourge, staring at her with their beady eyes. A heartbeat past before it lunged at her and she blasted it quick with arcane power. Yet it got up, and slowly more and more piles reanimated, blocking her exit. She could fight her way out—

Yet what if the people who were there lingered still because they could not leave? She was a mage; she could freeze this hoard and blink out, expend her mana on an invisibility spell if she had to—but if there were people alive, stuck in here… she had to help them. Eryn swore deeply, forming a ring of ice in front of her so they could not pursue her, and she turned, fleeing into the heart of the city.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure of this idea to seek whomever was still alive here was a suicide mission or not. She wanted to do it; but why did she? Because it was the right thing to do? Because it would redeem her from the hatred she was feeling? Or because of the chance she might not escape? The thought unsettled her. The idea of never seeing Anduin smile so brightly at her caused her to cease running, and it startled her at how much that idea shook her. No. She shook her head, frowning in concentration. She couldn’t think of him now; she had to focus. 

The living were fragile things, Irina thought.

Around her lay the bodies of the paladins who had accompanied her inside the city in search of whatever was reanimating the corpses. They’d been attacked at the gate and been unable to leave when they’d found nothing, and slowly more and more undead rose. There was nothing they could go but escape into the city, but—

There had been so many.

The paladin’s had tried to cleanse infected bites, tried to keep themselves alive but there had been too many. The only reason she did not fall with them was because her body was cold and immune to their diseases. Her runeblade was soaked, as was her armour. The only way to get out was to find whoever was behind this. A necromancer, she assumed. She could feel no traces of the Lich King’s distinct touch but sensed the presence of fresh magic within the bones of the dead. 

She’d been able to exact control over a few of the undead, the Necromancer must have been unskilled and new, or just weak. Controlling so many left them vulnerable, but they came back every time. So, she hunted her prey within the streets. Where she thought she may find even hints of cultists she found nothing. The longer it went on the more she wondered if it were not just best to leave, to come back with more people and hunt them down.

A figure in a black cloak rushed down a street and Irina’s sharp eyes narrowed.

Her prey.

The runeblade cut through undead in front of her and she quickly gave chase, her heavy armour clanking behind her quarry. They looked back, lilac yes wide with terror, the mage’s staff glowing to guide her way—Irina was slower than the mage, but she didn’t let it stop her. She summoned up shadow magic to grab onto her ankles and pull her to the ground.

Eryn knew of death knights before she’d met Thassarian within Andorhal. A few of them lived in Stormwind now, she’d met them a few times. She hadn’t been fond of them, but had never found herself scared of them, not like this. She was terrified as the death knight approached her, blue eyes illuminating the dark alley. She had the cries of scourge somewhere else, sounding like they were fighting each other. Eryn eyed up the large blade, and before it could strike her, she summoned a barrier.

Pained had trained her in physical combat, but she was clumsy and weak at it. What hope would she have against a warrior who had been trained to be the ultimate killing machine? Irina broke through the barrier quickly, raising her own anti-magic shield when she felt the next spell come towards her. “You have no place here, necromancer!” she hissed, baring her sword down again.

Necromancer?

“No-wait!” Eryn yelled, blinking past her to avoid the swing. “I’m not a necromancer-“

“Then what are you doing here?! You’re a mage, and you happen to be here the same time the dead are rising again?!” Irina swung at her again, ducking to avoid an arcane orb. “I don’t believe you.”

“I-stop!” Eryn pleaded.

But she didn’t. Irina kept on swinging, such was the way of the death knight. A slow juggernaut, she could outlast the mages mana. All she had to do was avoid her more dangerous spells. Swing. Spell. Duck. Swing. Barrier. Spell. Shield. Spells miss shot and destroyed walls, her sword swung dangerously and destroyed crates, sending insects flying everywhere. 

Eryn was at a loss. There was nothing she could do here, soon she would be out of power; Alchos was still quiet. What hope did she have? How could she make her understand? And then she saw it, the undead advancing on the death knight. “Behind you-“

Irina had felt it before the mage had cried out and turned in time to lop the head off the ghoul. The undead had been attracted by the sound of their fighting and now advanced upon them in a circle. “Brilliant,” She muttered.

“Do you believe me now?!” Eryn asked loudly, her back pressing up against the taller woman’s. “If I was a necromancer, you think I’d stop them, right?”

“Piss off,” Irina spat. “We can fight later.”

“Agreed,” Eryn said. If they weren’t in such a dangerous situation, she would have found her funny.“Were you here alone?”

Irina shook her head, striking down an abomination as it came towards the mage. Eryn froze a shade, disintegrating it in seconds. “There were some paladins, but they’ve been risen too-“ She stared at the back. Fresh corpses, still with armour. “Shit. We need a plan.”

Eryn agreed readily, taking stock of the situation they were in. “I can get us a portal out of here,” she said quietly. “Just outside the gate, but I need time to focus on it, or-“

“How much time?”

“About a minute?” Eryn said, throwing another spell at a few more shades. They were growing in number still. How was it possible? Her heart hammered wildly within her chest.

“Fine! You have sixty seconds,” Irina yelled, throwing herself forward into the mass of undead.

They scrambled for her, now focused on what they were deeming the easier prey. She hoped the mage acted quick, that she wouldn’t leave her behind. What an awful way to have her second death, she thought miserably. And here she’d thought her first one had been bad. The undead were mindless, they didn’t seem to have much goal, and she was so skilled in fighting them anyway that they posed little challenge other than their numbers. She focused her frost spells upon them, but she’d always hated the magical side they’d been trained in. After she’d regained her free will she’d all but stopped using those extra abilities. She preferred to rely on her skill as a warrior. She was no mage, no priest, she did not wield spells like they were a sword. But drastic times called for it. “Hurry!” She yelled over her shoulder, pushing a ghoul away from her.

“Almost there!” Eryn yelled back, looking up through the undead. Where had they come from? She realised with a pang they’d not come from anywhere, they’d never left. These were the people who originally lived here. One of them was perhaps a baker who would fill the streets with the scent of his delicious bread, there were probably families here. Small children, not old enough to realise what was coming for them when it came. She pitied them, to have this await you after life—she couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

The portal formed with a soft hum and Irina moved backwards towards her. “What are you doing?! Standing there gawking at them, go through!”

But Eryn couldn’t. 

Some of the corpses were distinct still, she supposed the death knight may know why that was—but… but would she know why… Eryn gulped, hands outstretched as she walked towards the woman. She couldn’t be here—not amongst the undead. Not one of them.

“Mage!” Irina half screamed, grabbing her around the waist. “I don’t much care if you die, but this is not a fate you want!” And with a heave, she pushed her through the portal and followed her through. The air, even though it was still thick with undeath, was cleaner and though she did not need to breathe, Irina found herself savouring it. “You got some fascination with undead?”

“N-no, I- I just…” Eryn shook her head and rubbed her hands together, trying to stop the shaking. “How are there still so many…?”

“That’s what I was trying to find out-“ Irina paused, backing away from her. “What _were_ you doing in there? You are no member of the Argent Dawn, and neither Darion nor Tirion sent word to the alliance. Are you with the Kirin’Tor?” She pointed her blade towards her. “Speak.”

“I-I’m not with anyone,” she said quickly. “I mean, I’m from the alliance, but they didn’t send me—I sent myself.”

“Why would you send yourself into there of all places?” Irina paused, before a disgusted look came over her face. “You’re not into dead bodies, are you?”

It took Eryn a few moments to realise what she was implying and then quickly raised her hands in protest, shaking them in front of her. “N-no! Nothing like that. Look, could you lower your weapon?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Well I don’t much trust you either, but I’d rather get away from here first… then discuss what was going on.”

Irina eyed her up carefully, trying to decide what to do. She could just go back to Acherus, but the idea of returning with no good news didn’t appeal to her. She didn’t want to cause worry over something that may have been easy to fix—and… besides… this mage. She was powerful. Slowly, she returned her sword to its sheath and then motioned with a gauntleted hand. “There’s a spot near the service entrance that’s safe for camping, unless you’re going to take a fancy portal home, which, I advise you do. This place isn’t safe.”

“I can’t leave,” Eryn muttered, following the direction she’d motioned towards. “I was born in Stratholme.” Irina said nothing, that wasn’t so surprising. “My mother died when I was born, and my father quickly took me away when the undead began popping up….”

“So you came here for…?”

“I wanted answers,” Eryn answered quickly. “Something to prove she existed, answers to who I am, I suppose. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, neither do I,” Irina shot her a look. “But you want to go back in there? There’s nothing in there.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

Eryn let out a frustrated sigh and turned to her sharply. “Who are you?”

The death knight walked past her, looking for any sign of undead, before dropping to sit on the floor, leaning back against the brick wall of the gate. “Irina,” she said simply.

“Just Irina?”

She snorted in reply. “If you want the full title it’s Lady Irina Darksteed. Unless you want my name while I was alive.”

“Is it different?”

“What’s your name?” Irina asked, entirely ignoring her question. 

“Eryn.”

“Just Eryn?”

The pair stared at each other, Irina was smirking. She did not like the company of other people, and this human seemed reckless, but she could not deny she was glad for her ‘life’ if that was what she could call it. She did not trust her, though; a mage just happened to be in the city at the same time as a necromancer? Was it insane luck, or more than a coincidence?

“Lady Eryn Miller of Theram-“ Eryn broke off, staring down at her hands as though they held all the answers of the universe there. Could she be of somewhere that didn’t exist anymore? She should correct herself, ‘of Stormwind’, she could say, but all she found was a pale fury. Her hands turned into fists and she let out some deep breaths. 

Irina sighed. So that was it, was it? She’d lost her home twice over. One she didn’t know, and another—well…. There was nothing to be had by going in there. Just death, more death, pain—death again. Perhaps she should turn her around, march her down to Light’s Hope. They had priests; wasn’t it their job to guide people through times like this? She snorted. 

“We don’t need more horde and alliance conflict here, if blood is what you want.”

“You don’t know what they’ve done-“

Irina let out a shrill laugh. “I know what they’ve done, I’ve seen things just as bad done. Look, kid,” she sighed, standing up and dusting herself off. The sky was darkening, it was best to chase her off before nightfall. “It’s unsafe here. Maybe you want to find answers, maybe you need to deal with your grief, but this place can’t help you. Go back to… wherever it is you came from.”

Eryn shook her head quickly.“I can’t.”

“Why?!”

“My mother—she was one of the undead.”


	4. Three: Providence

Night in the Plaguelands was much colder than anywhere else Eryn had  been. Perhaps it was the lack of people she could joke with, but she thought it was more to the fact there was no fire. It would just attract the undead and Irina didn’t need a fire anyway. So Eryn made do,  just with her thick travelling cloak. Irina had stopped trying to convince her to go far away from there when she’d announcedher mother's presence. It disturbed her.

How did the corpse still look so… fresh? Irina had suggested that, perhaps, her mother had been within Light’s Hope; she was a priest in life, no? There was a chance she was given that honour, Eryn didn’t know, after all, if  her mother had been honoured or venerated at all. When Eryn had pointed out that Light’s Hope was plenty far and wouldn’t really explain how her mother had gotten there, Irina had fallen into an uncomfortable silence and not answered. They’d been like that all evening. The Death Knight needed no sleep, urged the mage to rest, but every time something moved Eryn would jump start. Besides, she didn’t think it would do her nightmares any good, and the last thing they needed was her screams bringing more scourge. 

What did she hope to do, though? There was nothing in the city, so where else should she go? How was she supposed to find herself? She had to stop the magic which reanimated her mother, that was her priority… but then what? She hated admitting it, but she missed Dalaran. At least there she could focus intently on studying, taking her mind from everything but… but it was not a home to her, not a place she’d ever truly enjoyed being. Stormwind was the only place she could consider home now but being there was obviously doing no good. Perhaps she should return, await news of Anduin and then go and join him, but she didn’t  think that was a good choice, either. Varian had suspected the horde would also be after the land, and Eryn was positive her self-control would eventually slip.

“Do you have any idea where the necromancer might be?” Eryn asked, her voice quiet but piercing the night. It was unsettling how still everything was; no owls, no insects, not even wind. 

“No,” Irina replied simply, not looking at her. “I suspect he or she is within the city by how quick the corpses came.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“No.”

Eryn sighed. 

“Just sleep, mage,  you’ll need it tomorrow when we go back in,” Irina grunted, eyes forward on the trees. Her runeblade was embedded into the ground beside her, her arm rested over the top of it. 

Eryn wrapped her cloak around her tighter and moved to watch the other woman. She was cold and harsh, yet… somehow not unkind. “What was it like? Being in the service of the Lich King?”

Irina blinked, looking at her quickly and considering her. People didn’t often ask, they assumed, or if they asked it was to judge them, but there was nothing about this girl that would seem to want to judge her. She was  genuinely curious and there was no pity in her eyes. Grunting, Irina stared back towards the trees. “I killed people. Defenceless people, children, anything that moved if he willed it, if he ordered it-” she inhaled, her fury clearly showing. “He made me do monstrous things, all of us. It went against everything I knew, I could see myself doing it and I knew that I should not-- but I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t feel anything. No remorse, no hatred at myself.”

“You don’t like killing?”

“Do you?” she shot back, giving her a look.

“No, I didn’t mean it like--” Eryn sighed, staring down at her hands. “I hate it. I killed a man… he would have killed a friend if I didn’t….”

Irina stared at her carefully. “The first person I killed was in self-defence, my father,” She added, almost smiling at the mages shock. Why was she opening to her? Because come tomorrow both could be nothing else? She found she wanted someone to know who she was, even if she didn’t quite understand it. Plus if she was insisting on talking, she may as well indulge her. “He was a cruel man, he hurt my mother when she wouldn’t give him a son. I was a shy child because of it-” Eryn wasn’t sure of the emotion on her face. “I don’t remember much,” Irina carried on, voice strained. “But I remember that night. I was leaving, I wanted to travel with the man I loved. The undead problem was rising and we both wanted to do something about it. He didn’t like it, he tried to kill me, but my mother got in the way, so I turned on him instead. The man… Darion,” her lips turned up into a small smile, Eryn noted. Irina laughed softly, pulling her fingers through some of her red hair. “He’d been training me in the sword for a  few years, he wanted me to protect myself. Turns out I was naturally gifted.”

Silence. And then- “After that I decided I was good at it, killing, so I worked hard. I didn’t enjoy it, I would never kill someone who was innocent or who couldn’t defend themselves. There is no honour in fighting someone who cannot fight back.”

Eryn stared at her hands. “I don’t-- after I…. I don’t like  hurting people. I’m a mage… I could easily hurt someone without intending to.”

“Have you done so before?”

“No.”

“Then you are worrying about nothing,” Irina sniffed, shaking her head. “War is thick in this world, it always will be. I’ve learned that. At some point you must… is your life worth more than someone else’s? Is the life of the person you protect worth more?”

“I don’t think anyone’s life is worth more-”

“And yet you killed to protect someone else, no?” Irina smirked softly. “You value that life more than the other.”

Eryn didn’t reply. She hadn’t really thought of it like that. It seemed… funny. This woman, Irina, they’d been in the same situation. Killing for self-perseverance, but where Eryn had shunned embracing her capabilities, Irina had embraced it. She didn’t enjoy it, but she did it, understood it had to be done. Eryn did understand that, Pained had taught her that even if Jaina disagreed, but Eryn always tried to find the alternate ways out. Perhaps sometimes there was no other way, perhaps killing was the first answer. 

“Some life is worth more,” Irina added quietly. Eryn looked over at her, wondering what could have formed such a strong emotion within her. “You have a life, I don’t. Your life is worth more than mine. I am a sin of existence. All undead are. I have ravaged the land, brought death and sadness upon so many people… why is it right I should have… this?” she motioned down to her animated body with disgust upon her face. “When they do not? That darkness should triumph over light…” she snorted. “I never believed in religion. I thought the light was bullshit,” she laughed darkly. “After I regained my free will I started believing in it, funny, isn’t it?”

The mage watched her; lilac eyes glancing over the death knight’s form. Is that what she thought? Eryn shook her head. “I don’t think people are like that, good or evil, I mean,” she looked at her, then up at the sky. The stars were beautiful there, so clear. She wished she could point them out to Anduin, to Corel- her chest tightened. “I think our choices decide it for us. You choose not to kill people,  you had no choice before. I don’t thinkyou’re a bad person because of it.”

To her surprise, Irina laughed. “You could be a paladin with that attitude… but it is nice, to hear someone say it and mean it.”

Eryn shrugged, laughing with her. “It’s true though.” Yet she thought of Anduin, someone who was so truly good just by existing. He was so bright, so warm, she doubted he had it in him to make a choice to actually hurt someone, he didn’t have an evil bone in his body. She missed him. Why hadn’t she spoken to him about this? He’d know what to say or what to do, he’d know how to make her laugh when she’d forgotten how. 

Irina watched her carefully. She knew that emotion on her face, regret, but… love. She gulped down the uneasy feelings she felt. She wanted to think of Darion and smile like that, truly smile. They were not so different, her and Eryn, she could see that. They were both looking for answers as to their place in the world. “I may have… not told you everything,” she said quietly. 

“What about?”

The death knight was silent, before she let out a deep breath. It came out as ice, chilling the very air around her and Eryn shivered, wrapping herself up more. She was thankful there were no winds. “When I met with Highlord Tirion Fordring at Light’s Hope before venturing to Stratholme, he told me something… unsettling.” Eryn was suddenly not sure that she wanted to know but stayed silent anyway. “Bodies… have gone missing from the crypts and graveyard there. He originally sent some paladins to find them, it led them to Stratholme and… that’s how they found out about the undead.”

So, what she was trying to say was--

“Yes,” Irina said quietly. Was this guilt she was feeling? She had no reason to be guilty, she hadn’t taken them. The only reason she was telling her was because she felt as though the girl had been through so much-- “It’s possible that’s how your mother is in there. Look, Eryn, I know you want answers, but you can’t help her-”

“I’ll free her.”

“This necromancer… Maybe it’s best you go home. Forget about it. The past cannot be changed. Even if you free her-- Eryn, she will still be a corpse. You will still need to strike her down.”

It unsettled her but… “I don’t care,” Eryn said finally. “I will not leave her there to be some… mindless monster,” she shook her head. “I… have lost so much recently. The past few months have been anything but easy, I lost a good friend and I almost died in the process, learned things about myself I could never have imagined-- I lost my home, the people I considered family became people I cannot bare to look at--”

“Everything is out of your control.”

Eryn gave her a small smile, hands resting facing the sky. She reached up as though to grab something, but when she let go it was just air. “I just… want to feel as though I have some control. If I lose one more bit… I already lost myself. Who am I? Right now, all I want is to make the horde hurt as much as they hurt me.”

“So do it.”

Eryn looked at her, shocked. “But I don’t want to be a bad person, I don’t… want to be that. I was raised to believe that peace is an end goal, but now I barely believe it can be achieved. I couldn’t live with myself if I did those things, if I…” she let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes. “I have nightmares of everything which has happened to me, but you know the ones that scare me most?” she looked back at Irina and when she didn’t say anything, she carried on. “The ones where I’m killing my best friend, directly or indirectly.” 

A few times it had been the fight against Mafyr, one of her stray spells hit Anduin. Once or twice it was Darkshire again, the lick of flame on her neck, and she had been too slow to save him. Or the one which scared her most-- his body lying in a pool of blood lifeless, and her blood red eyes staring down at him, thinking only of the power she now had. “I… don’t want to be a monster,” she said weakly.

Irina shifted, closing her own eyes. “Sometimes… we can’t help who we are.”

“I don’t believe that,” Eryn said quietly. “I don’t want to believe that.”

Silence again. 

It was strange to Irina, to feel so curious about someone. She didn’t even know what to suggest helping her. “I come off cold,” she said quickly. “So if I’m too blunt… well, honestly, I don’t apologise.” Eryn laughed softly in response. “I think you need to learn to let go. You are too concerned with what’s right and what’s wrong… as if you put one toe onto the wrong side you’re going to be unworthy for something.” When the mage flinched, she realised she’d gotten it right. Was she super religious or something? She snorted. The thought of not being able to step foot into a church because she stepped on a bug or something was hilarious, and yet boring all at once. “I think you need to accept the past… and forget it. Peace? I don’t have much of an opinion on it, but I know from experience, sometimes you have to fight to get there.”

Eryn moved now, to sit beside her. Irina’s body was cold and did nothing to help warm her up, but it was nice to feel as though somebody was near her. Maybe she should just go home, talk to Varian, wait for Anduin. He’d look after her, he wouldn’t judge her-- but… to be worthy of being at his side… she had to deal with her own things first. They weren’t just going to go away because she willed them to, no matter how hard she tried or wished they would.

“How did you die?” She asked quietly.

Irina shifted, letting out a deep sigh and staring up at the sky. The moon vanished behind some clouds, plunging them into darkness for a few moments. “I told you about Darion,” she glanced at Eryn, then looked back up. “Self-sacrificing bastard he is… gave his own life to free his father’s soul from the Ashbringer. It’s… kind of a long story really, I’m sure he’d hate me telling it anyway. He was raised by Kel’Thuzad… I couldn’t stand it, seeing him like that. He wouldn’t want that. I’d rather him be dead than that,” she let out a shaky breath and stared at her hands. “Like a fool I chased after him. I was very good at killing scourge, Darion and I sparred all the time. I didn’t think it would be that hard… we fought a few times, he always won, but he always left me alive. I spent two years hunting down any scourge and destroying them. I went on a rampage I guess,” she glanced at her. “As if destroying them would make it all… unhappen somehow.

“One day he lured me out, making me think he had control. It was Kel’Thuzad’s ploy. Get me isolated, get me close, to lower my guard-- Darion is the only one I did that around… when I was close enough to him-” she put her hand on her abdomen, just below her chest. “His blade went right through me… like I was bread, or… like I was nothing. I remember thinking I just needed to take him with me. We could die together, it seemed fitting, our home was dead… without him I felt as though I had nothing. I was a silly girl. Of course, I didn’t get that happy ending, and neither did he. I suppose we have… this now, whatever this is,” she spat. “But we’re frozen, even if we fully regain memories… even if we learn to love again… what can we be? If I ever had dreams of a family they’re gone.”

Eryn had always thought it was funny to say you were ‘sorry’ for other people’s hardships, as though it were your fault somehow. As if you’d willed the bad things upon them, but what else could be said? She put her hand on Irina’s arm, staring at her softly. She couldn’t imagine… if that was her and Anduin. She’d have done the same, she would have done anything to spare him from that terrible fate. 

What was she doing?

Turning him down?

Something could happen to them at any time, with no warning he could be taken from her, she could be taken from him. The idea she may never see him again, hear his laugh when she said something, his passion when he spoke of peace or of the light-- Eryn breathed out, feeling her heart speed up. She felt so panicked and rushed suddenly, as though she’d done something incredibly stupid. What if one day she woke up and he’d moved on and she’d lost her only chance?

She would regret it for the rest of her life.

“Eryn?”

The mage shook her head. She couldn’t. She was… scared. Scared of everything, it seemed. When had she become this? As though she were a child and the world bad become the underside of her bed. Didn’t Jaina used to laugh about that? When she’d asked her to leave one of her fancy mage lights in her room to scare off the monsters? Anduin was the light, he chased off all her monsters-- but could he chase off the ones inside? The ones which _were_ her?

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly, moving back to sit within the actual gate way. She needed rest, she was suddenly so tired, so… drained. “We will find the necromancer and stop them.” After that—well, she’d figure it out after. One step at a time. First, she wanted to put her mother back to rest, stop this foul magic from doing more harm. What was it with people and misusing magic recently? It made her sick. The maleficar, Garrosh with the mana-bomb, and now necromancers. 

Irina watched her carefully, wondering what on earth was going on in her mind. She seemed so resolute and yet so torn at the same time, as if she was holding something back she refused to let spill out. It shocked her to find that she cared for this girl, she felt a sadness for her. Was it because of their similarities? She didn’t know. She let out a deep sigh and craned her neck up to look at the sky. Part of her wondered if she should not be angry at her, she had lost everything, but she still had her life; the chance for possibility. That changed everything. She lost her home, but she had the possibility of making a new one. She lost her friends, but there was possibility in the world to make more. She was young, she would make mistakes, but she could grow. She had the possibility to care for a human, fall in love, get married, have kids if she so chose. Irina didn’t have those possibilities and it hadn’t been her choice. 

It was frustrating to not fully remember. She thought of what if’s and buts and should haves or maybe’s. If she hadn’t gone after Darion, if she had moved on from him, accepted his fate rather than try and change it. Where would she be now? She’d been so young, so naïve, believing that he was the only one who would truly see her. It seemed cruel, for fate to laugh at them this way. For the first time in what Irina could remember, she felt frightfully cold. 

This girl could do great things and yet she was held back, seemingly mostly by fear of herself. Killing was not a joy, but sometimes unavoidable. Irina had long since accepted killing as a first resort to everything, she wondered if it was because she’d seen herself as a monster for so long that it no longer mattered. Maybe she had no choice for this fate, but she had choices now. Maybe they were limited, maybe she couldn’t take Darion’s hand and plan to elope with him, to go somewhere far away, a tiny secluded part of the world and ignore everything else. Hadn’t they already given so much to protect Azeroth? Why did they have to give more?

The world around her seemed to glare at her with answers. Because it was her fault that so many people were killed, that so many lost friends and family, that so many lost homes, that the world was tainted, that other people, too, lost their possibilities. Did they have to atone for their sins? She supposed she had given up. Hope, was that what she lacked? Passion, too, perhaps. No love for anything she did, just ‘living’ day to day, waiting for something to show her where she was supposed to be.

“What’s your biggest regret?”

Irina opened her eyes, letting out a deep sigh. “I have too many.”

“Do you regret going after him?”

“No,” Irina answered quickly. “I wish I knew the answer to what would have happened had I not followed him. I would do anything to avoid becoming this… maybe my biggest regret is deciding to stay here with him. Perhaps I should have convinced him to go south with me. Perhaps we should never have fought the scourge. Maybe that’s where it all went wrong.”

Eryn hummed softly, thinking the reply over. 

“And yours?”

“I don’t know that I have one,” Eryn said quietly. “I feel as though I am too young to regret something so deeply.”

“You must have something.”

“Maybe I regret never pushing my teacher into letting me out of the city,” she said quietly. “I don’t know…” She thought for a few moments. Perfect sunshine, the laughter of children; a blonde haired young man standing in front of her, eyes dropping to her lips—and had stopped him. “There’s…” she bit her lip, not sure how to phrase it. “Someone I care for deeply… he tried to kiss me, to tell me how he felt,” her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. Something she didn’t want to admit but something that she perhaps should. “I told him we couldn’t… I convinced myself I couldn’t, that we could get hurt and the other would just… now I’m like this and he’s far away…. I don’t know if I’ll see him again.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Eryn said quietly. “I do… he’s so bright, so naturally warm,” she smiled fondly, closing her eyes as she thought about him. Anduin would chase the coldness of the night away, there would be laughter, perhaps his pureness would chase away the undead, leaving them with no worries at all. “But I don’t know if it’s for the best. We come from two different worlds. And… and besides, I need to fix myself first. Something inside me is broken.” She gulped down, looking away. “It’s not normal… to become so… so… upset by so much hardship.”

“Different things for different people,” Irina said slowly. “Everyone copes differently. You just ned to learn how to process it and deal with it. Not telling people isn’t good, pushing down all your emotions isn’t good, either. Maybe you just… need to hit a few orc’s or goblin’s around. Maybe a good scrap would help.”

Would it? Maybe. Eryn wasn’t sure. But the point still stood, she had a lot to do before she went back to him. She needed to deal with all… this. And then she had to find out more of Alchos and her staff. Arcalima had gone surprisingly dim recently, it was still bright, but it was not the brilliant star it had once been. Kalec had mentioned how the staff seemed to bring hard times to people—ironic, really. With great power and all that nonsense. Only those with strong hearts could do it justice—but wasn’t that her issue? That she had a soft heart?

So, was the answer to harden it? To turn it into steel?

Eryn glanced at Irina.

Was she supposed to turn her heart into ice?

If her softness was her weakness, then she had to eradicate it. Eryn felt cold and drew her cloak around her even tighter, eyeing her staff which seemed to go dimmer and dimmer. Maybe it was going to give up on her, perhaps it would fade back into the nether and abandon her. Another thing she would fail, another thing she would lose. Why did she always lose everything? Another reason Anduin should not be near her; because she would lose him, too. 

Irina looked over to the mage, frowning as she watched the expressions change upon her face. She couldn’t read any of them, even as she slowly fell asleep. There was a rustle in the trees and tensed, but just sighed when a plagued squirrel dashed through. What a sad creature; why hadn’t it left yet? She supposed it had nowhere else to go. Neither did she, neither did Eryn. Irina snorted, closing her eyes again and letting the quiet wash over her. Of all the people on Azeroth she could happen to run into, it just happened to be the one she probably needed to meet most, and perhaps the one who needed her. 

She wanted to believe it was just a coincidence, but it seemed far much more than that. Was it providence then? It amused her, to think it might be. She snorted again, careful not to disturb the sleeping mage. Divine intervention for the pair of them. The light had a sense of humour, she thought. Whomever was praying for Eryn probably didn’t see this solution occurring at all. If it was providence, if someone had been praying for Eryn, did that mean someone was praying for her, too? She thought of all the people, that Tirion might be the type of person to pray for all their souls, but—

Irina moved carefully to make sure her armour didn’t clank and make a noise. She took a kneeling position, her blade still embedded into the ground beside her, and looked up at the moon. She thought of Darion, of the small girl asleep beside her, of all the people she’d hurt and prayed as hard as she could, hoping that somehow, something would hear her and would pity her pleas.


	5. Four: Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still suck at fights :V

Corpses lined the streets of Stratholme, and once again they were still.

Piles upon piles littered their way, Irina didn’t seem to care nor notice, but Eryn was unable to tear her eyes away, or to block off the smell which lingered. It occurred to Irina the necromancer could be gone, or that they were walking into a trap. They might not get out this time, she’d have no time to use her gate; Eryn would not be able to portal them again. She didn’t intend to leave this time, not without doing what she came for.

Eryn had not said two words all morning since she’d woken from a nightmare, there was no laughter in her face, just a grim coldness that Irina recognised as someone who was shutting themselves off from the world. She wanted to tell her to stop, that she didn’t want to be that; that her warm heart and her compassion were a strength. That they were something she deeply wished she had, but she found the pleas to her died within her throat. What right did she have to tell her not to shut herself off? The world had proven so much to her that this was the answer, that the less you cared the less you had to lose.

The staff clutched firmly in her hand was dim.

Eryn had summoned her own mage light to guide their way instead of relying on Arcalima’s jewel. It currently hovered over their heads between them, dim enough to not announce their presence, but bright enough that they could be careful not to stand on any corpses. 

If there was one thing Irina didn’t like, it was working with other people. She always felt responsible for them, if they got hurt she felt like it was on her shoulders. Plus, it allowed room for so many variables and she liked plans, and she liked them to work out. Going in with no plan unsettled her, this whole place unsettled her, and she found herself wondering whether or not they had been foolish. Perhaps it was better to go to Acherus, find some other death knights, return here—but Eryn was adamant in going forward with or without her, and Irina wasn’t sure she should let her be alone. This was not the fate she wanted.

She wondered if her praying had done any work. Eryn had awoken, yelling quite loudly just before dawn and covered in a sheen of sweat. The terror on her face had almost made Irina fearful, she’d had to reassure her that it was just a dream a few times before she calmed down enough to breathe properly. She was truly scared to hurt her friend, wasn’t she? She was curious about him, the boy who’d captured this mages heart so entirely, so _irrevocably_ , that there didn’t seem to be any turning back. Eryn seemed like she’d need someone gentle, someone who could look after her without smothering her. She found herself protective of the younger woman but wondered if she had the qualifications to judge whether or not someone deserved her.

The city was so still, the fire crackled loudly and Eryn coughed when she’d disturbed a pile of ash and it entered into her lungs. A short pause to allow her to recover and then they searched again. Neither of them spoke.

Undeath sprang towards them quickly.

Neither had been prepared, and Irina found herself separated from the mage. Yet there was no time to look for her, she had to focus. Her blade cut through undead, she used the pommel to hit more. She dodged, froze some, strangulated some banshee’s. The more that fell the more that appeared. They had to find the necromancer.

Eryn threw fireball after fireball at the corpses. She summoned up arcane power, feeling it bubble beneath her fingers and slammed her staff down to know a few back, but it seemed to do nothing. The number was growing and Irina was on the other side of the street. Was this it? Was this where it ended? No. She refused it. She rooted as many as she could, snared others with slowing spells, and used the time to get to Irina with a faint invisibility spell and a blink. The death knight jumped in surprise, turning to attack her, but had stopped when she’d felt the warmth on her back.

“Do you have a plan?”

“No,” Eryn said quietly. 

“We need to find the necromancer,” Irina breathed out. 

“First we need to deal with this!” Eryn barked back.

“Don’t you have a spell somewhere?” Irina muttered. “You mages are good at mass destruction—look, there’s nothing here you have to worry about destroying!”

Eryn didn’t want to admit her magic was failing her and she didn’t know why. Or did she? She stared at her staff. It was so faint now, not working properly with her magic. What was she supposed to do?! She felt so frustrated, so angry, so—

_ Ah, child, I leave you for a time and this is the mess you get into? _

Alchos!

The arcane elemental chuckled. She noted he sounded tired, if that were possible, as if he’d just woken up from a long slumber and wasn’t quite ready. Her heart beat; he’d know the answer, wouldn’t he? For the first time in days she felt hope, hope that she would return home.

_ You waste energy trying to destroy them. Stop them, give you and your… friend… time to find the culprit. _

That was easier said than done, Eryn thought. 

_ Have a smart tongue all you like, child, but if you do not do as I say I will take matters into my own hands. _

Could he do that? She supposed he could, he was stronger than her, and he didn’t want to die. Maybe she should let him. It was a peaceful thought, strangely peaceful. Her shoulders relaxed. She could… give up.

_ Pathetic. You gave up so easily? Where is the fight you once had? You can give up later, do whatever later. Don’t you have someone to free? _

Yes. Yes that was true. Eryn thought of her mother and gripped Arcalima tightly. She could give up later. Alchos was right. She let out a roar, summoning up all the mana she could pull from Alchos and summoned down a flurry of ice upon the undead. Some let out cries and tried to escape, but they were frozen solid before they could move. The houses were still on fire, and yet ice and snow settled on the ground around them.

Irina stared in shock. Such power. This is what she was hiding the entire time? Her eyes were glowing a bright purple, and her staff was glowing just as much, a pure brilliant white. She panted heavily, shoulders heaving as she watched the mage bend down and put her hand on the ground. Purple runes burst from her hand, rushing off into a direction which Eryn followed without a word. The death knight yelled at her, grabbing her blade up and rushing after. She was much slower with her heavy armour, and it clanked all the while. Where had that power come from? She felt a thrill of excitement as she looked back, the undead still frozen, but the snow had stopped.Maybe they had a chance.

Eryn rushed forward into a ziggurat and Irina yelled again, almost running into her back. The mage was still, eyes fixed upon the figure which stood at the end.

The necromancer was small and green skinned with pointy ears and a cruel face twisted into horror and terror. The goblin had not been expecting to be caught. There were bodies near him, fresh ones, Irina noted, including some of the paladin’s, and Eryn’s mother. She could feel the magic in their bodies, he was working hard on them—

More clanking and the sharp sound of a sword being withdrawn.

Irina turned sharply to block the sword, eyes wide with shock. She had expected one of the reanimated paladin’s, she had not expected to find one of her own. She considered him, she knew him. Tomas, his name was. He’d never stood out, she only knew him because he lingered in Acherus still. Was he being controlled?

“You need to learn to stop meddling.”

No. She supposed he wasn’t. Irina pushed him back. “Eryn, deal with that goblin!”

Eryn felt a cold fury as she stared at the necromancer. His face was now forming a cold smile, a twisted grin. She thought he was mocking her about Theramore, about everything else. As if the worlds problems were his fault and he was exalting in it. She only felt fury, only felt cold anger. Her heart pulsated, and she clutched her staff tighter. She should kill him. She found no reason not to.

But he moved his hands quickly and the corpses around him stood up. The paladin’s engaged her with melee attacks, but she dealt with them by blowing their arms off with arcane power, their skeletons fell to the ground easily, yet the goblin did not lose his grin. Eryn knew why.

Her mother.

She had to destroy her, didn’t she? To stop this.

Eryn raised her hands to send forth some power but stopped herself. She couldn’t do it. Even if this was not truly her mother, she could not hurt her. She’d seen her soul with En’je, her spirit. She’d moved on; this was just a body. Whatever remained of her was no longer in there, but that didn’t make it any less hard. It was Eryn’s face staring down at her. Her heart beat weakly in her chest as she clenched her eyes and looked away, directing another blast of power towards her. The goblin let out a sound of fear and she felt her fury rise once again. Now standing her full height, shoulders pulled back, Eryn sneered down at the goblin and formed all the energy she could into her hand. It crackled loudly and illuminated the dark area.

The sounds he was making, the begging, the pleading, the whimpering—it all disgusted her! Hadn’t her people suffered worse than this? They’d had no time to see their end coming, they’d just been ended. Around them everything annihilated. It was his fault. The goblins had made the mana bomb. It was his fault! He should suffer!

“Why?” Irina yelled at Tomas. “You are helping him?”

“What place do we have, Irina?!” Tomas barked back, his face full of insanity. What had happened to him? Irina thought. He seemed so unhinged, so—“Where do we fit in?!” Questions she’d asked herself—but was this the answer? “We plan to make it better, Gexdald and I. He lost his family so he’s going to bring them back!” Tomas laughed. “I came to stop him, to tell him it didn’t matter. This world will never accept someone like me, someone like them!”

“So, what? You intend to make the world the same as us? You wish this upon others?” Irina asked, feeling disgusted. “Why don’t you go join Sylvanas? This is the type of underhanded, disgusting act against humanity she would condone.”

Tomas sighed, rolling his shoulders as he drew his sword down. She blocked, managing to push him back. “She has her own agenda,” Tomas muttered. “No one will see it coming if it comes from us. Join me, Irina, you can convince Mograine to help! The Death Knights, in charge of a new plague! No one could stop us, and we would never need the Lich King-“

“We would be just as bad!”

She thought of everyone she’d killed to be raised into undeath by Arthas. Tomas had done it too, how could he so willingly believe this was the answer? Was this her future? It sickened her, and she wanted to believe that she wouldn’t go down this route. That she would stop herself, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that, perhaps, this was her future. So dark and twisted, so lonely and cold. Realisation dawned on her and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes.

She couldn’t let Eryn kill the goblin.

Summoning up chains of ice, she froze Tomas in place. She’d deal with him later, if he got away, Darion could help find him. Stopping him was not important; he’d already become far beyond redeemable, his soul could not be saved. But the young girls could.

Irina burst back into the ziggurat, freezing at the scene. Crackling power, a maniacal look upon Eryn’s face as she leered down at the goblin. “Eryn,” she said gently, moving closer as slowly as she could. “Don’t do this.”

“Why not?” She spat. “Isn’t this what you told me to do?”

Again, she felt sympathy for the girl; it was clear what she wanted to do, that anger and hatred were guiding her moves and thoughts. This would destroy her if she went through with it, it would twist her soul and her mind. She would never accept herself if she did this. “You said yourself… you don’t want to be a monster.”

“Maybe I already am. I want him to suffer, he should suffer!” 

“You said our choices define us, those are what make us good or evil. You can choose different, Eryn,” she pleaded, putting her gauntleted hand upon her forearm. The arcane power in Eryn’s hand radiated against her, she felt it’s warm power licking at her face and almost withdrew from shock. But instead she kept it there, staring down at her impressively and kindly. 

“He destroyed my home!” She yelled out, tears streaming down Eryn’s face. If Irina’s heart was made of ice, it shattered into pieces. “He took my friends! My family! I have no where because of him!”

Irina gulped down her own feelings. The goblin did not look remorseful, just terrified. “It wasn’t him, he had nothing to do with Theramore. You can’t hold him responsible for what the others did. Let him live, Eryn. Be better than him.”

She was right, Eryn knew. 

“You don’t want to be this, your warmth, your compassion… maybe you see them as a weakness, but they’re your strength. Those things make you as human as you could be; and that’s something to be celebrated! Peace can only be truly sought by people like you, if you close your heart off and turn it into ice…” Irina smiled ironically. “You’ll just be part of the war, not a solution.”

“Feeling everything isn’t-“ Eryn choked out. “I don’t want to feel this.”

“I know you don’t, so does everyone who feels such a void before them but trust me when I say you don’t want to feel nothing, either. Part of being human is this, growing. Feeling things like anger, like sadness and like grief, but learning from them. Don’t let it close your heart, if you kill him—you’ll go down a dark path I’m not sure you can return from, Eryn. Don’t let one small person take away your humanity, be better than him, be better than what happened to your home.” Slowly, Irina pushed Eryn’s arm down, gripping it tightly. The magic fizzled out and she heard the goblin let out a sigh of relief. 

Eryn sunk to her knees, sobbing loudly into her hands. Her staff lay before her. The goblin moved to grab it, but as his stubby green fingers touched it, the light vanished, and it burst him back against the wall. It rested on the ground in front of Eryn again, still and dim. Irina stared in horror, yet she cared little if he was alive. Instead, she knelt beside the mage and squeezed her shoulder softly. “Sometimes the act of war in the pursuit of peace is unavoidable, but sometimes we can make a choice whether or not to spare people. You are better than them. You shouldn’t let the world dull your warm heart, even if you believe it would be better. I’d rather feel a life time of pain than this—I feel nothing. Not even love for the man I know I care for deeply.”

She was right, yet it didn’t make it easier. She’d been so ready to hurt him, to kill him, to give into her fury—she needed to get away. To make peace with it, to accept that part of herself but not let it control her. Alchos remained silent, but she found flashes of a place within her mind telling her where to go, where she would find her answers. 

“What about him?” she asked weakly, staring at the goblin. Her hands shook with restraint, forcing herself to not hope he was dead as he lay there. “And the other one?”

“Tomas is probably done, but I’ll hunt him down myself,” Irina murmured. “What do we do about him?” she looked at the green creature and sighed. “That’s your choice.”

Eryn inhaled and closed her eyes. She should think beyond herself, think instead of the people he could hurt. The justice belonged to them as much as it did to her. What would Anduin do? She thought about it, smiling sadly as she did. He’d probably listen to him, but Eryn wasn’t sure that was right, either. Maybe Irina was right and maybe she shouldn’t turn her heart into ice, but she didn’t suppose being so accepting was either. No matter his reasons, what he’d done, what he’d been intending to do—perhaps death would be too much of a mercy for him.

She stood silently, picking up her staff as she did. Arcalima’s star glowed upon her touch and she considered it for a moment before turning to the task at hand and levitating the goblin’s body. Irina followed her quietly, yet kept her eyes peeled for any sign of movement. All the undead had fallen to the floor and remained still and silent as they passed. Dead. The snow from Eryn’s spell lingered in places, but the fire had mostly melted it all away. The only hint they’d been there were their footsteps in the ash.

Outside the air was thick with undeath, and Eryn let the goblin drop to the floor with a smack. Irina laughed, yet Eryn did not join in. There was nothing she could say to her, she knew, this was something she had to figure out for herself. 

“What happened to your mother?”

“I destroyed her,” Eryn said weakly. “I… spoke with her spirit a few months ago. I knew she’d moved on… that body wasn’t her.”

The death knight watched her as she conjured up some paper and a quill. She moved to sit at the side and hunched over, writing quickly. Irina did not ask, instead focused on the dark footprints leading from the city. Tomas was here somewhere. She’d find him after this, she’d go to Darion and ask him for help. How could he think his actions were just? That could have been her. Irina’s eyes closed painfully. 

If she had not met Eryn, would she have stopped to listen to Tomas? Would she have considered his plan? She wanted to think she wouldn’t, she truly wanted to believe that would not have been the reality, but… but the truth was, she wasn’t so sure. She had been so convinced that her existence was already monstrous by nature, what did it matter what she had listened to him? She would always be an outcast, she would never be accepted. Perhaps her rage, her anger, and her fear would have twisted her too much, too far. Feeling those things… they weren’t bad. They were natural and human, but you could choose not to act upon them. Choose to think about things first. 

Perhaps that was it, part of finding their place again was accepting they were still human. Regaining their emotions, finding that part of mortality in an immortal life. It was hard work, most of them never fully regained their feelings entirely. She knew some who only ever felt anger. What if that were her? She supposed at least then it would be something. She was no monster, she felt for this girl; she cared for her.

“Here,” Eryn said, offering her a sealed envelope. 

“What’s this?”

“A letter for the High King of Stormwind,” she murmured, dusting ash off her leggings. “I’d like you to take it to him with this goblin. Let him pass judgement. I explained everything.”

“The king?”

Eryn laughed a little despite herself. She felt so hollow, like her victory had been taken away. She knew in the future she would look back and thank Irina for stopping her, that truly, deeply, she didn’t want this goblin to die because of her anger to the others of his kind. This was the right course of action. “King Wrynn is a… friend, I guess. The boy I told you about—” her cheeks tinged pink, and she smiled, unable to help herself, as she always did when thoughts of the sweet prince came to her mind. “Is his son.”

Irina let out a breath, laughing deeply. “You fell for a prince.”

The two women shared a look. They barely knew each other for an entire day and yet they’d formed a bond that went deeper than words. Perhaps neither of them truly understood it then, just how much of an impact they’d both had on each other, but a peace fell between the two of them. Understanding. They would both be okay, they would both heal, become stronger and better people because of it. 

“Where will you go?” Irina asked quietly.

“To get my answers,” Eryn said softly.

They left each other with an unspoken promise to meet again. Irina headed to Andorhal to secure her horse and transport to the city, having declined a portal from the mage. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts for a bit, to think everything through. She also wanted to question the necromancer about how he’d learned the magic and about any location Tomas could be.

Eryn opened up her own portal and stepped through it.

Deadwind pass lived up to its name, Eryn thought. She tried to ignore the bodies hanging above the chasms, tried to not look down when she went over them. The buzzards flew overhead, circling some nearby carrion. Wind blew through, cold and sharp and she drew her cloak tighter around her. This was where Alchos had led her? She breathed out, letting her footsteps fall instinctively. He was silent within her, but she felt his presence strongly. She knew what lingered her, the castle of Karazhan, inside that lingered a vast library belonging to the guardian. Perhaps there was information in there which she needed. Hadn’t Aegwynn told her it would be impossible to get into, though?

But she had to try.

Spirits lingered outside but they paid her no mind, and she returned the gesture. They meant no harm, they were just bound to this place. There was no sign of any living thing having been near the place in a long time. The door was sealed, all the windows boarded up. She tried every spell possible, but nothing would budge the door. Alchos remained silent.

“There is no way in,” a deep voice said.

Startled, Eryn turned to the man, her staff ready for a spell. He was grey haired, much older than her, and a curious look upon his face as he looked at her. He looked back at the main gate and sighed deeply. She recognised his staff, feeling admiration well up within her gut. 

“I have tried many times to open the gate, no spell would work. I suppose when we are supposed to enter we will be able to do so.”

Eryn breathed out, lowering the hood of her cloak. Maybe Alchos hadn’t led her here for answers from books. She walked towards him, breathing deeply. “I need information.”

“And you sought it from Medivh’s library?” Khadgar chuckled. “You would not be the first, nor the last mage to try, though I assure you it would not be so simple to retrieve.”

Eryn let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes. She knew what had to be done, what had to be said. That this man could help her; he was talented and wise, he’d seen the best and worst of both the horde and the alliance. If anyone could guide her—

The lilac eyed mage clutched Arcalima tightly. Khadgar watched her, eyes flicking to her staff, and then back to her. “I need a teacher,” She said clearly, her voice seeming to carry through the chasms of Deadwind pass.

“I do not take students.”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” Eryn replied quickly. 

He sighed and shook his head. This girls magic was strange, he could feel it bubbling under the surface. There was something there, untapped and uncontrolled. He recognised the staff, he had seen it once, but it had been much brighter then. Turmoil in her heart, he supposed, confusion. There was no joy in her eyes, no laughter anywhere within her face. Just the same grim determination she clutched to her staff with. 

“I’m the former apprentice to Jaina Proudmoore,” Eryn added, moving even closer to him, begging him inwardly as much as she could. 

Understanding crossed the wizards face and he let out a deep sigh. “I do not get involved in horde and alliance conflicts,” he muttered. 

Eryn shook her head, clutching her staff even tighter. He was the only one who could help, she knew it, she had to try anything to get him to teach her. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry at the horde, that I don’t want blood. I struggle with it, but I want to move past that,” She spoke clearly, speaking with a conviction she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her staff grew brighter and she carried on, feeling encouraged and inspired. “I don’t want hatred for the actions of a few to define how I feel about many. I know there are good, honourable people amongst the horde. Baine himself gave Jaina warning…” she sighed. “Look, I’m hard working, and I want to learn. I have a power I don’t know how to use and control, and somehow fate… providence… whatever you wish to call it has led me here to where you are.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Alchos’ purpose didn’t seem to have been anything but Medivh’s library. Running into Khadgar really was a fortunate circumstance. “The prince, he is a good friend of mine. He’s… Anduin is the best chance we have for peace in the future, I know it. I want to be able to stand at his side and help him, but as I am right now I can’t do that… please. If you turn me away… I don’t know what will become of me, or of the power I have. I’m scared it will consume me.”

The wizard watched her, listened to her. She was honest, earnest at least, and seemingly desperate. Whatever she’d gone through… he admired her determination to work through it. It wasn’t a quality he saw often. He let out a heavy sigh and ran his gloved hand over his face. He did not like taking apprentices, but he supposed he had nothing else to do. At the very least, while he kept a vigil over the dark portal, perhaps he could teach her, too.


	6. Epilogue: One Rainy Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said; just a short series! The next one will have a lot more Anduin and Eryn in it :3 it should be quite a vast time span too, so I'm hoping to get a fair few chapters out of it, though obviously trying to make it so it isn't... dull at the same time though let's be honest, I feel like this is pretty dull anyway hahahaha. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this silly little short series :3

Irina had never seen Stormwind before. 

In fact she’d seen little of the world beyond Tirisfal and the plaguelands since she’d regained her freedom. There had been Northrend, but it was so dead, or snow covered apart from the Grizzly Hills. There was no warm breeze like there was here, no scent of apple blossoms, no signs of life everywhere.

It was overwhelming to begin with, and she found herself paused on her horse at the gates, the goblin firmly in front of her. 

Few people gave her glances, some of them were of fear, but she ignored them and headed towards the keep. She wondered what the king was like; was he a good man? Would he listen? Eryn had thought he would, and she trusted him to pass a judgement upon this… she stared down at the green creature and sneered. He’d tried to escape a few times, so she’d been forced to shackle his arms and gag him, so he couldn’t cast any spells. After he realised there was no escape, he spent most of the journey asleep. He’d not answered any of her questions.

The keep was impressive. She left her horse outside and slung the goblin over her shoulder but spent much of the walk up towards the throne room staring in awe at some of the finery and decorations which littered the place. It was so warm and bright here. 

“Can I help you?”

She turned to stare at a rather scrawny man and pulled the letter out from her breastplate. “I’m supposed to deliver this to the king.”

“Whom is it from?”

“A mage I met—her name is Eryn; the letter is concerning this thing-“ she motioned towards the Goblin. 

“I’ll take it.”

Her first impression of Varian was that she really wanted to spar with him. She gulped down, trying to suppress her warrior spirit, to keep things as normal and calm and formal as possible, but he must have noticed because he smirked at her. He was strong, intimidating, talented. Yet not threatening, not to her. “Your majesty,” she frowned. “That is right, isn’t it?”

Varian chuckled deeply. “If you are a friend of Eryn’s then Varian is just fine-“ he looked at the goblin, a frown creasing his features. “Is she okay?”

“I think she will be,” Irina murmured, dropping the goblin to sit between their feet and offered him the letter. “I don’t know where she’s gone.”

The king hummed in response and unfolded the letter, almost laughing at how untidy her scrawl was. He’d have to show this to Anduin when he returned; no doubt he’d find it amusing that her penmanship was… well, awful. He read quickly, frowning more and more at the content. She’d included everything, including her intention to seek someone who could guide her now. Well, he thought, at least she was working through it. 

“Thank you for stopping her from killing him.”

Irina shook her head. “Her soul was worth saving.”

He chuckled then stared down at the goblin. “What would you have me do with him?”

“I don’t care,” she answered simply. “But he can’t be returned to the world, the things he was planning-“ Irina closed her eyes, she needed to return to Darion, to work with him to find Tomas before he could do anything else. “He technically hasn’t killed anyone,” she pointed out. “He just… rose the undead,” she spat the words, feeling quite disgusted. 

Irina decided she liked Stormwind. Perhaps when things were sorted, she’d return and see if there was anything she could do to aid the alliance. Maybe there was space for her there, perhaps she could be of use. She was a skilled warrior, after all.

She bid her farewell to the king, her last view of keep was of the goblin being dragged off to the Stockades, and then summoned up her gate back to Acherus. It was cold and smelled of undeath and yet she felt home there. Irina removed her spaulders and her breastplate, putting them aside in her quarters, before striding out to find Darion. This was home, this was her life. Perhaps there was no longer any reason to return to Brill.

Darion was giving orders to another knight when she found him. Irina observed him for a while, leaning on the edge of the wall looking down to where he had maps and charts open. He was in leathers, just like she was, and his helmet was off to one side. 

He was handsome, she thought as he looked up at her. 

An image flashed to her mind of rain, of a warm hand taking hers. Laughter from deep within her chest, both trying to be quiet. Ducking behind the inn to find shelter. Night time, cold and soaked through. The warm hand now on her cheek, warm breath against her lips, and even warmer and gentle lips against hers. A warm feeling in her chest.

Irina smiled at Darion and he smiled back.

Everything would be okay.


End file.
